


love, and be loved in return

by mag003 (MMagpieMcCorkle)



Series: wouldn't be scared (if you didn't look) [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Episode: e006 Squirm (The Magnus Archives), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMagpieMcCorkle/pseuds/mag003
Summary: You can feed what loves you. Or you can be fed on.
Relationships: Timothy Hodge & Jane Prentiss, Timothy Hodge & Worms
Series: wouldn't be scared (if you didn't look) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713835
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	love, and be loved in return

**Author's Note:**

> thinking about timothy "canonically fucks" hodge and how he could've been an avatar if. u kno
> 
> thank u to the minor character appreciation gc for this idea, mwah
> 
> cw: typical worm and corruption business (like trypophobia), and suicidal ideation, so please take care if u read this

There's a song beneath his skin when he sleeps. An itching, too. It wakes him up, sometimes, a choking bubbling in his throat likes it's blocked up and he thinks of Harriet, poor Harriet who was scared and... unknowingly hosting whatever had hurt her. Timothy soothes himself with the useless thought that if he'd just left her alone, he'd be fine, and maybe Harriet would be fine and this last is _important_ because then he's not a selfish prick.

It doesn't help.

* * *

At breakfast one morning, while he's holed up in a hotel and on a waiting list for a new flat (landlords aren't keen on "pyros", it seems, even though Timothy is not one, habitually), he finds a worm in his arm. His stomach rolls. Revulsion, certainly, but also the worry that someone will find out. Find out and take it out.

Doesn't he want that?

* * *

It had been a month or so, the time between Harriet and his flat, and the worm in his arm. Just the singular worm so far, and it only peeps out every now and then through the same place in his arm. Very polite. Funny thing to think, about a worm being polite.

Funny. Almost endearing.

He has nightmares about the sound of eggs on stone floors.

* * *

He's tired these days, and he's falling behind on his projects. New flat. Great. He can't concentrate.

There's a singing in his skin. For the moment, a single thing. How odd. How lonely. He listens.

* * *

A second worm. Left calf. He's been evicted from his flat for not paying rent on time for a few months now, and having fewer clients who are willing to be patient. Timothy's couchsurfing, offering nothing but his presence. His friends aren't happy about it, but they haven't been happy with him for a long time. Cancelled plans, stunted conversations.

He's not been to the hospital in a long time. Going near one makes him feel sick. He thinks of Harriet. Still, he thinks of Harriet, and he wonders if he'll end up the same.

It's a special kind of torture that he's lasted as long as he has.

* * *

The woman that "mugged" Harriet visits him one day. Takes a seat across from him in a cafe. He wonders how no-one's noticed her. The worms in him sing, now multiple beyond two. Like a reunion, hatchlings from the same nest re-met. It's distracting in a comforting way. He doesn't understand it, nor does he want to; he fears the truth which he is too close to understanding. Both he and this woman are host to parasites.

"You look awful, Timothy," she says, her hand pitted and abloom with worms. Nobody's noticed. Why? She speaks candidly, not necessarily condescending or mocking or deriding when he was expecting any of those.

"Yeah." It's true: he's considerably paler than before, and thin.

"Why do you think that is?"

He doesn't want to answer that, despite the surge of the worms, a hungersong. He thinks of Harriet. Jane Prentiss smiles, and he can't tell what kind of smile it is. Pity, something sinister, something gleeful, something else altogether that he does not and will not understand because he... he will not feed this if it means to hurt others. God knows he's a bit of an asshole sometimes, and he's quickly losing friends, but he's not a bad person. He will not be a murderer just so he can _survive_. It's not even living.

Jane straightens up, stands, and leaves. She blows him a kiss at the door. "See you soon, Timothy!" she calls.

Noises and yells of disgust erupt -- she'd left worms in her wake. Timothy leaves, and finds an abandoned pub somewhere off Azalea Close. He breaks in, and stays there.

* * *

Before the assistant finds him, and before that clusterfuck of a... _whatever_ finds him, Jane finds him. Again. He can't move, and quite frankly that's fine because then he can't hurt people, but it hurts him so much. A slight wriggle sets off fire in his veins, lancing agony. The worms still wonder if he'll feed, at the last moment before he disappears. He won't, though. He won't.

"You poor thing," she says, crouching to stare him in his remaining eye. "You poor, silly thing."

"I won't," he tries to say, but it hurts to speak, to move, to exist, and all that comes out is another moan of pain.

Jane tuts, then leaves. At least she doesn't waste time.

* * *

When the assistant finally finds him, it's a blessing. Timothy wishes he could thank her.

**Author's Note:**

> dabs. wrote this in one go. no redrafting i die like timothy hodge


End file.
